


Laundry Fic

by sogoldn



Category: One Direction
Genre: College AU, M/M, Niall Is A Good Bro, Non-Famous Harry, Psych Major Harry, Uni AU, a lot of mentions of cum, bad punk concerts, bright blue underwear, i saw this idea in a post on tumblr that i cant find anymore, liam is only alluded to but not mentioned by name, louis in fuzzy socks, music major louis, non famous louis, zayn isn't a very good friend in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sogoldn/pseuds/sogoldn
Summary: Louis valiantly attempts a night out to help him recover from a breakup, but when he's abandoned by his friend and gets ejaculate all over his pants, he decides to just go home and do laundry.The next morning, he finds that his curly haired neighbor has taken his wet clothes out from their communal washing machine and dumped them in the lawn to freeze.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 66





	Laundry Fic

Louis was a good person. He really was, he was loyal to his friends and partners, a family man, compassionate towards others. He never left food out overnight and cried over ASPCA commercials, sat alone on his sofa in the small hours of night. But everybody has their breaking point, some things were just too much to take.

The night before, Louis had decided to go out with his best friend, Zayn, who had taken him to see some dingy underground punk group that turned out to be on the ear bleeding side of awful and the crowd wasn’t much better. Louis’ boyfriend of six months had dumped him two weeks before, his usual type; indie and cool with little to no capacity for emotional vulnerability. But he was funny and had perfect teeth and let Louis hold him and wear his sweaters. Maybe Louis hadn’t been in love with him, but he was heartbroken anyway. He was disgusted with himself over it, but he craved being adored, he always had, and he missed it. Even if he knew from that start it wouldn’t last forever.

It was dimly lit and cramped, the air was stale with smoke and the heat of too many intoxicated bodies. People kept shoving into him, catching his shoulder uncomfortably, or otherwise banging into him on purpose in the hopes of starting something. He had just moved away, wrapping his jean jacket closer to his body. It just wasn’t Louis’ scene, and probably not exactly Zayn’s either, but he was too busy getting all close and personal with a broad shouldered, tattooed man he knew from an art class to bother paying attention to Louis’ distress. He tried to stick it out, not wanting to head somewhere else to get a drink alone (that would be desperate and Louis had some dignity, thank you).

Then, suddenly, hope had appeared in the form of a half drunk, tall handsome stranger in a band T that wouldn’t stop catching Louis’ eye. Zayn could have his hunky art boy and stay in the stinky hole in a wall if he wanted. Louis was going to get this guy to take him someplace without blood stains on the floor.  
He was making his mind up to saunter over, knowing just what he looked like in his fuck-me-jeans when the guy made the first move, getting up in Louis’ personal space with a drink and a smirk plastered firmly on his annoyingly sculpted face.  
“Hey, doll.” The man drawled. Louis had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but a boy was a boy and this one was going to get him out of here or so help him God.

“Hey.” Louis said from under his eyelashes, taking the drink offered to him from the man’s hands. It wasn’t in a sealed bottle, so he wouldn’t be drinking it, but he hoped Band T wouldn’t notice. Band T was called Sam and had the copy-paste personality of a bored rich boy stuck in a pretty boy bubble trying desperately to latch onto something that would make him ‘edgy’ or ‘cultured’.  
They were standing outside on the street, having a smoke in the space between where the night life happened. Where girls who were holding their heels in on hand scurried, laughing, linked armed, across sidewalks. Where people huddled, talking too loudly, waiting for an uber. 

Sam was a nihilist on principle and apparently liked to dazzle his conquests with his knowledge on indie bands and said things like, “you should really check them out” before Louis had gotten the chance to tell him he had been listening to them for four years. He had also described two seperate bands as “soulless”. Louis regretted telling him he was a music major.  
But it was better than being stuck third-wheeling Zayn and his vodka-drunk sluttery. That’s what he told himself anyway, because when Sam leaned in to kiss him and his gut felt like stone and his hands fell limp on Sam’s waist, he had to tell himself something.

In the next hour, three very unfortunate things happened.

One: he let Sam take him home. 

When had he decided on that? How did he get in this uber that stunk of artificial strawberry? When did he let this stranger under his shirt with sweaty palms? Maybe he should have waited for Zayn, but he hadn’t even texted. Maybe he should have just gone home.  
Sam’s apartment was tiny and messy. Empty beer bottles and cans of energy drinks clanked when Louis’ calves hit a wobbly coffee table and the smell of sweat and stale cigarettes clung to the gray bed sheets. Sam was hot, his whole body on fire. His mouth was hungry and too wide open when he kissed his lips, his neck, his chest. Wet. 

Two: Sam came in his pants.

Louis’ pants. He didn’t even get them half down his legs before he was biting onto Louis’ neck, maybe more drunk than Louis thought he was, and just let go, rutting like a stray fucking dog. Sam apologized, he offered, but only half heartedly, to “help out” but Louis was already going soft and pulling up his pants after wiping them out with a shirt he found on the floor. The back of his neck was burning with shame or anger or disappointment, he couldn’t tell at that point. But when he walked to the door with mumbled “it’s okay, I just wanna go home” and “really, it’s fine” his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging. 

Walking was uncomfortable. He felt stupid for leaving Zayn and stupid again when he realized Zayn might not have even noticed. He walked quickly, the chill of the spring night cutting into his thighs and chilling his face and fingers. He thought about his ex, his perfect smile, his warm chest. He wrapped his jacket snugger, he did not call a ride. 

Three: Somebody left their wet fucking laundry in his building’s communal washing machine. 

When Louis had finally reached his door he was shaking with cold and sleeplessness and the misery of choking back frustrated tears. He walked in, quiet so he didn’t disturb his roommate Niall’s comatose form, snoring softly with his bedroom door open. He peeled off his clothes gingerly, rinsed off, finally letting his tears loose to wash down the shower drain. He slipped into his softest sweats and hoodie. When he was done, his limbs were heavy and he was dead tired. But he gathered his soiled pants and underwear into a basket with some of his dirty soccer clothes and headed downstairs to throw them in the washer. He couldn’t bare to face them in the morning. He doubted he would be able to sleep anyway. 

On the way down to the laundry room he told himself that he wouldn’t wallow. This was a low moment for sure, and the shame of the night still sat uncomfortably in the bottom of his stomach, but he would find a way to make it a funny story for Niall in the morning. So a pretty boy douchebag prematurely busted on his best skinnies, that wasn’t the end of the world. When he arrived to the laundry room, there was only one washer that wasn’t running. He opened it up to find a pile of soggy clothes, cold and abandoned inside. Of fucking course. Louis could feel his neck and cheeks flush again, this time with anger. He was angry at the late hour, at the awful experience he’d just come home from, at Zayn for being selfish instead of helping him through the aftermath of his breakup like a good friend. He was angry because everybody was so inconsiderate, and this asshole who couldn’t be bothered to change out his laundry was no fucking different.

Louis dropped his basket from his cocked hip onto the ground with a huff and began taking out the wet clothes and putting them on the bottom of a dusty metal shelf that took up the small wall space by the door. The garments he was being forced to handle made him even more upset. There were pretentious vintage t shirts, the smiling face of a young Britney Spears mocking him and designer sweaters so hideous he could only imagine the kind of asshole who would wear these, ironically he was sure. There was a pair of awful mustard yellow corduroy flare bottom pants that made Louis want to gag himself. He pictured a smug hipster dude, tall and fit as his clothes would suggest, with masterfully mused hair and tortoise shell glasses with false lenses.  
He felt a little better, satisfied even, by the time he had emptied the washer and replaced them with his own clothes.

He went back up to his apartment, deciding he would sit on his couch and watch a few episodes of a true crime documentary while he waited to switch over his laundry. He was warm in sweats and a fuzzy pair of socks he had slipped on and a throw blanket his mom had sent with him when he moved out. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes, the sky was bright and gray and Niall was busying himself in the kitchen, humming to his 70’s playlist and making coffee. Louis’ eyelids were heavy and his back hurt from sleeping on the couch and the memory of the night before came rushing back to him with an unpleasant pang. He groaned dramatically, wrapping himself like a burrito in the throw blanket.  
“He lives! Good morning sunshine.” Niall shouted across the small space between the shabby couch and the little kitchen. “Want me to put some tea on for you, pumpkin? Have a headache?”

Louis slid to the floor into a sitting position and squished his face against the armrest, pouting pathetically up at Niall, who laughed and got out a mug and a box of Yorkshire tea. “I’m not hungover.” Louis mumbled, still pouting.  
“Oh?” Niall raised his eyebrow in disbelief, turning on the electric kettle.  
“No. But I am humiliated.” Louis played with the strings on his hoodie. Niall frowned and leaned against the counter, his pale eyebrows scrunching up in concern.  
“Okay. What happened? Sorry I couldn’t go out with you guys, I’m already wishing I was there.”  
Louis smiled softly at his friend, already feeling better. Niall always knew exactly how to treat him when he was fragile like this. How he always was, lately. All tender and crushed and jokes leaving his mouth crooked. He was trying, but it was hard. “It’s okay, Niall. It’s just- okay. So Zayn fucking ditched me, right?”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes! It was supposed to be my day, I was ready, rolled out of bed for the first time in weeks. Thank you, by the way for not saying anything about my take-out box collection piled up in my room.” Niall nodded in an ‘I got you’ bro fashion. “So anyways, I was trying to have a good time but the bitch ditches me for a meat-head tattooed guy at a shitty punk thing he took me to.” Louis paused, looking back down at his hoodie strings “...To make a long story short, I uh, I went home with this dude and he lasted like, two minutes and came all over my best skinnies, so yeah.” Louis felt himself going red again. He didn’t know why this was affecting him so much, he thought he would be able to laugh about it, but he kind of felt like crying.  
“Oh Lou…” Niall padded over on socked feet. Before he could sink down to hug him, Louis stood swiftly, shaking off his friend’s comfort even though he may have been aching for it just a little. 

Louis let out a small breathy laugh, then remembered why he had fallen asleep on the couch. Perfect escape plan from the situation. Louis was an expert at ducking and diving around his uncomfortable emotions, it was a practiced skill he sharpened often. His ex used to admire this ability, praise him on how ‘low maintenance’ he was. Louis would swallow and smile, fold his arms and try not to bristle like a cat.  
“I left my laundry in the wash. I’ll be right back.”  
Niall caught his fingers as he slipped out the door. 

That’s when a fourth and final Bad Thing was discovered.

His clothes were in fact not in the washer. Louis looked around in confusion, suddenly panicked that some weirdo burgled his scrappy soccer shorts and sexy, sexy black skinny jeans. He noticed that the terrible wet hipster clothes he had dumped on the shelf were gone and there was no trace of any of Louis’ things. He suddenly wondered if coming down to the laundry room last night was some vividly ordinary, sad dream brought on by the misery and confusion of the evening. He stayed in the laundry room for a few minutes more, feeling impossibly frustrated and sorry for himself. He decided to stomp back up to his apartment and complain some more to Niall over a cup of tea. 

The air was chilly, but not too bad with Niall’s chunky winter coat over his hoodie and uggs pulled over his thick socks. Snow still stuck stubbornly to the ground in hard gray chunks. Louis looked at the soggy brown lawn in disgust. He couldn’t wait for summer. Then he saw it. A pile of clothes. Right there on the ground, crumpled and crisp with frost. Louis ran over to the pile, shock and anger bubbling up in his chest as he recognized the red and white of his soccer shorts and the electric blue of his second-favorite pair of underwear. He picked up the underwear gingerly with two fingers, frozen in a sad, twisted shape. 

Just then, like a cruel joke fate was playing on him, like god was setting the stage for the next scene in the tragic drama of Louis’ cum-pants adventures, one of his neighbors came down the stairs. Louis whipped his head around and the man froze in place. He was tall and lanky, a mess of shower-wet hair curled over his ears. He was holding a bag of garbage in one hand and his mouth hung slightly agape, his doe eyes were bright green and round in surprise. It took louis all of half a second to register him and his stupid Britney Spears T shirt peaking out from an ugly cardigan. 

That’s where Louis was now, in the snow at ass in the morning, fingers like ice and nose red and slightly runny, staring at the man who left his laundry in the mucky snow to freeze. He was on his very last nerve. 

“You!” Louis shouted, high pitched and accusatory, pointing a finger at the admittedly handsome stranger with the hand still clutching his crunchy boxer briefs.  
The stranger winced, abandoning his garbage bag on his porch and fiddling with chunky rings that adorned both his hands. 

“I-” The stranger started, hunching his broad shoulders in slightly as Louis stomped towards him, slipping a little on the icy sidewalk. “I mean you- you left all my wet clothes out on the shelf!” He managed to get out, still standing on the stairs as Louis halted on the bottom step, so angry he felt his hands shake and his upper lip turn to a hard fine line. 

“Listen, fuckface. I don’t want to hear any of your stupid fucking excuses. You shouldn’t have left your clothes in the bloody washer if you didn’t want your shit fucked with!” Louis was shouting. He was shouting and flailing a pair of bright blue, frozen solid slim-fit manties in the air. The stranger spluttered at him, he was looking at him from under his eyebrows, his full lips turning down in a perfectly sinister pout. 

“Wait a minute, I’ll admit what I did was petty, but if you’d just have left my stuff alone-”

Louis was not having any of what this arsehole had to say. He let out a loud laugh from his chest, interrupting him. “But fucking nothing, mate! You can’t just throw people’s things outside! Who the fuck does that shit?! You’re an insensitive arsehole just like- just like everyone!”

Louis didn’t realize he was crying until he stopped shouting. Fat tears that burned stripes down his cold cheeks and fell off his chin. He wiped at them with shaky hands, turning away in embarrassment from the shocked man still staring wide-eyed at him on the stairs. 

There was a shuffling behind him. He was hiding his face in his sweater sleeves and hiccuping pathetically as he heard the stranger walk around him to the pile of frozen clothes. He was aware that he had started picking them up, but felt stuck to the spot as he slowed his breathing. He felt like a child, like one of his little siblings who had meltdowns when they stayed up too late. He was scared to look up and face the cute bloke he just had a mental breakdown in front of, his embarrassment intensifying the more he calmed down. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there in the snow, probably only a couple of minutes, but it felt so long that he was glued there, his neighbor shaking out his laundry and placing it on the step. 

Then there was a large hand on his shoulder, Louis could feel the warmth of it on his skin through his jacket. “I’m sorry.” The stranger said softly, his hand retreating. Louis scrubbed his face in the crook of his arm, knowing that his face was swollen and rudy but it didn’t have to be sticky as well. 

“I’m sorry too, I overreacted.” Louis finally looked up and met the other man’s eyes. He was biting his lower lip, brow bunched with worry. He was fiddling with his rings again, his fingers now glowing pink with cold. Louis noticed he was wearing pink and blue nail polish. 

“No, its- I overreacted first by dumping your stuff in the snow. I’ll get them dry-cleaned if you want. To like, make up for it.”

Louis just stared at him for a moment. “Well, I mean I did start it. I’ve just been having a shit couple of days. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He swallowed and looked down at his feet.

The man rocked back on the heels of his vans. He was worrying his plump bottom lip with his two big front teeth, obviously just as oblivious as Louis was about where to go from there. Louis cleared his throat, arms crossed tight across his chest and avoiding eye contact. He was about to say he should just gather his things and head back inside (maybe a Niall hug would make him feel better) when the man suddenly offered his hand, shooting his arm up too quickly from his side, awkward as ever. “My name’s Harry, sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I watch you- I mean I see you! You know… around.” 

Louis cringed with second-hand embarrassment as he watched a flush creep into Harry’s cheeks. Honestly it only served to bring out his dark, long lashes and had him looking even more chuberic than before. Louis put him out of his misery by swiftly reciprocating his offered handshake and giving him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m Louis.” He said, hoping Harry hadn’t noticed the way his hands shook. Harry was worrying his lip again. 

“Would you maybe, um. Would you like to come up to my place? I could make you a coffee? I honestly feel terrible about all this.”

This was turning into the strangest morning of Louis’ life. “I prefer tea.”

Somehow he found himself climbing the stairs behind a very cute boy who had an arm-full of his frozen intimates.

Then he was standing in Harry’s entry way, shucking off his soggy uggs as Harry went to put the clothes in his tub to thaw. He was very aware of his fluffy striped socks and the too-long comfy pants that were bunched up at his calves and made his arse look huge. He attempted to smooth the back of his hair and fluff up the front. He caught sight of himself in a little round mirror hanging on the wall and was pleased to see he didn’t look as gross and swollen as felt, but he was certainly blotchy with a red puffy stripe over his upper lip. He wasn’t too hideous though, he knew he looked cute in a domestic way in his comfy clothes and his hair was behaving fairly well for a change.

When Harry returned, he led him into the kitchen, where he had padded barstools at the counter. Louis and Niall’s apartment was laid out almost exactly the same, but not nearly as well organized, furnished, or decorated. Harry’s place was homey, looking like a nice lesbian couple with a love for knit throws and modern art lived there, rather than a young (hopefully) single man who was evidently studying sociology if the open text book on the counter was anything to go by. Everything was quaint but not cluttered, individual items looked like they were from thrift stores but were collectively modern.  
Louis would have liked to find it pretentious. He just felt warm. Here in his little apartment, Harry’s quirky fashion sense and awkward charms weren’t out of place, he had made a home he belonged in. Louis felt a strange pang of jealousy. 

Louis slouched over his tea, holding it with both sweater pawed hands, breathing it in and letting it warm him but unwilling to drink it because he didn’t like his tea without milk and Harry hadn’t offered any. Harry was perched, straight-backed on his stool, not even touching his tea. Just staring at Louis with those big, bright eyes, brow a little too serious for comfort. Louis shifted a little and put his mug down without letting go, so his hands would remain tosty. “Are you going to school? For sociology?” He asked, nodding to the textbook. 

Harry seemed to suddenly return from his own head, perking up a bit and raising his eyebrows from their unnerving furrowing. “Oh, yes. I mean I’m going to school, but for psychology. I;m interested in all the social sciences though.” Louis felt himself ease a little. Okay, he could do this kind of small talk. He told Harry about how he intended to pursue a teaching career, that he had already started teaching music part-time to middle school aged kids. Harry scooched closer to him on his stool when he said this, goofy smile turning into something soft around the edges. 

“So do you love kids?” Harry asked, a little gooey-voiced, like he really loved kids too.

Louis chuckled a little, “Yeah, I do. I think I’m a good teacher, I have a lot of patience for that kind of thing.”

Harry nodded and hummed his approval. “So were you a band kid?” He asked, taking a dainty sip of his tea for the first time.

“No, I wasn’t. To be honest I wasn’t a very good student. I was both a jock and a theater kid, so pretty much the most obnoxious person imaginable.” Harry laughed at that, a little honky and very endearing. 

Conversation went on for some time, Louis’ tea cold and forgotten as morning rolled into afternoon. Louis had to send Niall a text that he was fine after realizing he had gotten several worried ones from his roommate over the last hour or so. He was having such a good time. He loved the way Harry spoke, voice deep and words meandering in a round-about way so his stories took longer than they needed to, but were nice to listen to. Louis found himself often looking at Harry’s mouth, all plush and wide and perfect. Sometimes conversation would still and they would just look at each other, a little too intense and familiar for someone who he just met. He would fix his fringe delicately and Harry would lick his lips and flash his dimples. Louis knew what this was leading up to, it was only a matter of time before one of them made a move.

It was Harry, which was good, because Louis was getting antsy and was about to ask him himself. 

“It’s about lunch time and I didn’t even actually eat breakfast…” Harry started, looking over at the digital clock on the oven. 

Louis looked at one of the curls, now dry and a little fluffy, that flicked up over one of Harry’s precious ears. “I haven’t eaten today either.”

Harry made eye contact, gaze sparkling and determined. “Would you like to have lunch with me, Louis?” 

Louis smiled, butterflies dancing in his stomach. “Yes, I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) leave a kudos if you enjoyed, it means a lot!


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